The Fairest
by Cantaria
Summary: In which Frodo despairs over certain physical attributes.


 Title: The Fairest

Pairing: F/S

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Slash, and immense satire. 

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me (and fortunately for them), I don't own the hobbits. 

Feedback: Would be appreciated greatly.

Summary: In which Frodo despairs over certain physical attributes. 

_It's not my fault_, Frodo thought bitterly as he absent-mindedly stirred his tea, staring out of the window in his study. _I certainly never _asked _to turn out this way, did I? Fair, indeed! I'm wretched!_ He sighed and took a sip out of his cup, staring at his porcelain-white hands.  _Don't do that! _an exasperated voice in his head chided. But what was the use? Everyone else did it, too, so often that Frodo was perplexed at how many different adjectives could be used to describe his complexion. 

"Look at you, boy!" old grandmotherly hobbits had exclaimed after he'd first arrived at Hobbiton. "Don't they ever feed you up at that place? (Otherwise known as 'Bag End') You look sickly! Pale as a ghost, you are!" And they had promptly taken the liberty to shove loaves of freshly baked bread into Frodo's arms, which he had carried home with him, a slightly annoyed expression on his face.

"My goodness, what are all those for, Frodo lad?" Bilbo had asked bemusedly the first time Frodo brought home such cargo. 

"My starving condition," he'd retorted. "Apparently, my ghostly pallor has led a few people to think that you aren't feeding me properly."

"Ah, well," Bilbo had said hesitantly, "you've always been quite- er-white," he finished lamely. "Family trait, you know. Though, it's usually been more- er- associated with the females-" Bilbo had ducked, narrowly missing an airborne loaf. He'd never brought up the subject again, and remained suspiciously oblivious to any other well-meaning parcels that Frodo received. 

Frodo thought that, given a few years to mature, his skin would gain a little color and people would lose interest in his tones. Unfortunately, neither worked in his favor. As inherited traits can be stubborn things, Frodo found that he burned rather easily, and was thus confined to the shady indoors of Bag End. He buried himself in Elvish texts to compensate; although he found them fascinating, he glumly realized that his skin was threatening to match the sheets on his bed. When he did venture outdoors, he was susceptible to the comments of gossipy passersby. 

"Oh, it's Frodo!" a bubbly hobbit lass had cried one day while Frodo was sitting outside. "He's the fairest of all hobbits, I'm sure!"

"He gleams like pearls, he does!" her friend had gushed.

"Aye, he's creamier than fresh milk," another lass had offered. 

"And he's just as likely to spoil, now that he's out in the sun!" an amused voice had said. A male hobbit had appeared suddenly from behind the throng. A younger hobbit had immediately come to his side.

"Yes, cousin, it would be a shame if a pretty iced figure such as yourself were to melt out here!" the younger hobbit had piped up. Frodo had contemplated briefly whether it would be worth it to murder Merry and Pippin in front of witnesses. 

"Mr. Frodo," someone had called. "It's just about time for luncheon, why don't you go on inside?" The girls had wandered off disappointedly, while Frodo's cousins, distracted by the thought of food, quickly bounded up the path and ran inside. The call had belonged to Sam; wonderful Sam, who was Frodo's unspoken defender. Frodo was certain that Sam's fierce protectiveness stopped just short of him gnashing his teeth and physically admonishing Frodo's tormentors. Sam had understood immediately how much Frodo's condition bothered him, and had apparently resolved to take Frodo's mind off of it. On exceptionally lovely days, at Sam's insistence, Frodo would reluctantly don a rather garish straw hat and go out into the garden, only to find that Sam had a surprise planned: a beautiful cluster of gardenias; ripe, fresh tomatoes (of which would match Frodo's blush, if only his sallow complexion would allow it); the occasional exotic bird that flew off course. Frodo was grateful for Sam's kindness indeed, especially after Bilbo left. 

_I wonder what Sam thinks of me, _Frodo wondered, coming abruptly out of his musings and back to the present. _Surely he must think that I'm pale as a water rat, but is too polite to say anything. _Frodo suddenly realized how important Sam's opinion of him was; what was Sam really thinking under his façade of politeness? He decided to find out for himself that very day. He rose from his chair and went outside, neglecting to wear the ludicrous hat. 

The moment Frodo stepped outside, he regretted leaving his hat indoors. The sun pelted his skin with angry, white-hot rays, transforming him into a glowing, luminescent being-  

"Stop _doing_ that!" Frodo hissed, furious with himself.

"What did you say, sir?" Sam turned away from the hedges he was clipping to stare at Frodo. Frodo caught his breath and gaped a bit: Sam's long toiling in the garden had turned his skin to a deep, golden tan. Frodo noticed (with a quickening feeling in his stomach) the strong firmness of Sam's arms, the sturdy build of his body.  Frodo became acutely aware of the fact that, were he to place his arm against Sam's, the comparison would not be in his favor. _And they believe _me _to be_ _fair? Sam, you're a vision of loveliness if ever I saw one. _

"Mr. Frodo?" Frodo realized that he must have been staring. _Remember why you came out here? _ Actually, he didn't; if there were any other reason besides seeing Sam, it was long forgotten now. 

"Nothing, Sam, it must be the heat talking," Frodo mumbled.

Sam frowned. "Now, sir, you oughtn't have come out here without your hat, you'll surely burn." Frodo was sharply reminded of his original intent. He found himself feeling suddenly peevish and annoyed with Sam.

"Think I'm a frail little daisy, do you?" he snapped. "One beam of sunlight may illuminate my lucent self and set me ablaze, is that right?"

Sam looked rather abashed and taken aback. "No, Mr. Frodo, sir, that's not what I meant at all!" he exclaimed. "It's-it's just that the Sun's awfully strong today, and- and I don't want you to get sunburned, is all," he said timidly, staring down at the ground. Frodo instantly felt like kicking himself for yelling at Sam so. _You miserable wretch, this is Sam you're yelling at! He was only looking out for you, as he always does. He wasn't insulting you! _

"Forgive me, Sam," Frodo said, going over to Sam and lifting his chin. "I know you only meant well. Really, Sam, it wasn't your fault," he added, since Sam still wasn't meeting his eyes. "I suppose," Frodo sighed, "that I'm rather tired of being a 'slender, fey creature'. I'm not delicate, or fair, or any of that nonsense. The truth of the matter is, I'm pasty as your Mam's uncooked dough, and weaker than a kitten. It's no small wonder that people think I'm peaky all the time-"

"But that's not true!" Sam blurted out, his eyes snapping upwards in shock. "Beggin' your pardon, sir," he said hastily, "but you're _wrong_. You ain't weak or sickly looking at all! Mind you, you ain't any of those things that people call you, if you'll pardon my saying so. But you _are_ something special, of that there's no doubt." Sam paused, looking thoughtful. "Why, you put me in mind of- of moonlight, the way you give off light from within and make everything seem beautifuller just by looking with those eyes of yours-" Sam stopped abruptly and shut his mouth, eyes wide, apparently horrified that he'd gone too far.  

Frodo's eyes went wide as well. The comment, he found, did not offend him at all; rather, he was surprised and nonplussed. Sam thought he shone from the _inside_? For the first time, someone had suggested that Frodo's beauty did not stem from his Elf-blessed, marble-white skin. Frodo was shocked. If there was anyone who shone from within, it was Sam himself. 

"But- _Sam_!" he said hoarsely. "You- you think _I_ shine? Sam, how people think me to be beautiful, I don't know, but _you_ are truly the fairest of anyone I've ever known."

Sam's blush was fiercer than the Sun's rays as he muttered, "Don't know as I rightly believe you, sir, beggin' your pardon."

"It's true," Frodo asserted firmly, "and if you believe anything, believe that, and believe that I-" Frodo faltered and felt heat rising in his own cheeks. _But it won't show, will it? No, I'll still be cool and white as snow_-

"You know, sir," Sam said, eyes bright, voice raspy, "you've been out in the Sun too long. Your face is right flushed." Sam gently placed a cool hand on Frodo's cheek. Frodo let out a shaky sigh.  

"Perhaps we should go inside," Frodo managed with difficulty. He was sorely tempted to add _to my bedroom_, but refrained from doing so: he was faint, to be sure, but not rash.  At any rate, he wasn't entirely confident that he'd be able to move from that very spot, much less to the bedroom. 

"Aye," Sam agreed, but did not move, nor remove his hand from Frodo's cheek. If Frodo turned his head a little, he'd be able to plant a kiss on Sam's palm. He was in the middle of wondering if there was a subtle way of doing that when a nasty little head in his voice decided to interrupt him.  _Just what do you think you're doing, little fairy_? _As if he'd ever want you! He just thinks you're a pretty thing!_

"Oh, sod off," he muttered. "You're a terrible nuisance."

"Sir, what-" Sam began, looking hurt, but Frodo cut him off by leaning forward and pressing his lips to Sam's.  Sam's mouth opened to Frodo's in response, and Frodo moaned into the kiss. Sam echoed him with little whimpers of his own, which Frodo eagerly swallowed. For a few delicious moments they stood like that, mouths entwined and arms around each other, oblivious to the Sun pounding down on them and the inevitable sunburn that would plague Frodo for days. Frodo didn't care in the least; sunburn was a small price to pay for this other burning, which was threatening to consume him entirely. 

"_Oh_," Sam said breathlessly as they drew apart.  "Oh, but I didn't know you would ever feel this way about me, Mr. Frodo. I can hardly believe it."

"I do, Sam," Frodo said.  "I have for a long time, I think. You're a beautiful person in every aspect; what you see in me, I'll never know, but you almost make me feel fair in a way that no one else has." Oh, dear, that sounded awfully drippy.  "I suppose that- what I mean to say is- I love you, Sam." Well, so much for subtlety. 

Sam didn't reply; he simply stared at Frodo, his eyes boring holes into his, for so long that Frodo felt a bit unsettled. When Sam finally opened his mouth to speak, Frodo feared the worst. But what came out instead was, "Oh, Frodo, me dear, but aren't you the loveliest thing I've ever known. I'm so glad I could shout." Sam's voice was naught but a hoarse whisper, and Frodo could hear a hint of tears. Suddenly, Frodo found Sam's mouth upon his own again. 

"I love you more than anything," Sam murmured when he pulled away from Frodo's lips. "I wish you could see what I see."

"I'll take your word for it," Frodo replied. "And I'll tell you, Sam, I know who the fairest is, and it's certainly not myself."

Sam smiled and took Frodo's hand. "If you say so, Frodo dear. Now, I reckon we really ought to get out of the Sun; I expect we'll both be a bit crispy tomorrow. A nice, cool bath would do you some good."

"It would do me even better if you accompanied me," Frodo suggested. He delighted in the deep flush in Sam's cheeks that was not at all attributed to the Sun. 

"Aye, I might just do that," Sam said, his eyes gleaming, "if I finish all that needs to be done, that is."

"Nonsense, Sam!" Frodo said. "You work too hard. In fact, I believe we could both do with a lie-down. Only, we won't sleep."

"I suppose you're right," Sam said in submission, but the smoldering look in his eyes suggested anything _but_ submission. Frodo gasped a bit. Then he realized that the nagging little voice had been awfully quiet for a while. 

"Well? Haven't you got anything to say?" he challenged. "Any new adjectives for me? Found another synonym for 'pale'?"

The voice remained silent. 

Triumphantly, Frodo led Sam inside, and his despair over his skin tones was soon completely replaced with more favorable thoughts, and then none at all. 


End file.
